It was a light yellow smocked dress covered withlittle teddy bears, a high waist, puffed short sleeves with ruffledcuffs, peter-pan collar and a skirt...that would barely reach the top of mythighs. "You're wearing it," my mom tells me in a very stern voice, onethat would make any son fearful. With that she walks behind me holding abag. "Hold still," she says to me as she crouches down. She lifts my leftfoot, slides something underneath, and then my right foot to do the same.I'm dumbstruck looking. He used his newfound wealth to buy the best clothes and accessories for Brenda. He had laser hair removal over his entire body. He never needed to shave and, thanks to a very thorough skin regimen, kept his skin silky smooth all over as well. He had a fake set of breasts made that, when placed in a bra and applied to his chest, were almost impossible to know they were fake.Now ten years later, Brent had truly become Brenda. He was only Brent at work these days. People would probably freak if. I love the sensations. I love the sight of her naked body. "But she's your daughter," I remind myself.I push the guilt down and consider the rest of the evening. I am going to have to act normally. I still feel the taste of her pussy on my lips. I quickly pull open the refrigerator and grab some orange juice. I pop open the top and take a deep drink. "I caught you," I suddenly hear my wife's voice from behind me.I cough hard feeling the orange juice trying to go down the wrong pipe. Putting. We've had so many things happen to us in such a short period of time. Helen had a heart attack. I almost bought the farm from a damn bear. Arlene nearly died from that asshole's bullet. I screwed up by letting those bastards get into our home, but we've all lived through it, despite my fuckup. I have nine wives and more "standing in the wings" as Diana puts it.Now we have Hope with us, and a few minutes ago she walked up beside me as we both got scrambled eggs from the steam table. I could.